Tomorrow
by PunctuationIsKey
Summary: Why didn't you fight back? I tried. I really did. I fought back with everything I had. Did you want it? I could never wanted this. Not in a million years, when the sun died out and the Earth turned into a big floating ice cube. Never. IMPLIED RAPE


**Tomorrow**

It was all a nightmare. One big, nasty, ferocious trick that plagued my mind from the time my eyes closed to when I heard the soft calls of my name and feel those hands shaking my body lightly. Although that toxic mix of reality and fantasy haunted me with every waking hour, it felt so deserving that they did so.

With every time I closed my eyes, I felt trapped, wanting for someone to hold me close and tell me "Everything's going to be alright." But, wordlessly, I accepted my fate. My seemingly horrible, sick, twisted fate that was spun into a web by God herself, yet in the end was given up for something of greater value. Sold off. Forgotten. Abandoned by the angles and left alone in the long corridor leading to the bloodstained stairs that only further my despair.

It was of no use trying to tell someone. After all, I identify as a man and was born into the role biologically. Whether I thought different from my assigned sex it would make no difference. Those prying eyes, getting into my head, judging me. Asking, screaming, wondering, thinking, whispering, muttering, stating….

 _Why didn't you fight back?_

Always coming back to that same question. I've come to resent those words. They have become my least favorite. It would've bothered me less if the one who's been by my side would've never spoke of such a thing. He never should've uttered them. Not to me atleast.

No one could ever understand. Fight back. _Fight back._ It seemed that no one knew the definition of it. It was just too _hard_ to. Seeing how none of them would ever, _could ever_ , walk in my shoes, my efforts were futile. Just about as useless as trying scream in space and expect to be heard. I've always chose that line, because no one ever heard my screams. Not when they pierced the peaceful atmosphere of the little, common town. Not even when they stretched on for what it seemed like hours. Not when I cried out for help, nor when they broken down into loud sobs of despair. Only found when my body shook with sobs and hiccups. _Only when it was all over, far too late, the damage already done_.

 _Why didn't you fight back?_

I tried. I really did. I fought back with everything I had.

 _Did you want it?_

I could never wanted this. Not in a million years, when the sun died out and the Earth turned into a big floating ice cube. Never.

Although I was in a constant pit of darkness and turning into something that of a pessimist, I felt joy in my day to day activities: wake up with brother, go to school, mess around, host for an hour or so, hang out with friends, go home. Sleep never included. Sometimes the nightmares would decline and leave me alone so I would be able to function properly the next morning, but there was always the fear of reliving the events, the next even worse than the previous, present.

So everyday I would take out a pen. Preferably a calligraphy pen so the process would be more relaxing and elegant than just a routine of sorts. Swiftly, the pen would dip itself in the ink and scribble in curvy words: **Kaoru Hitachiin.** Right under that would go **Hikaru Hitachiin, Kyoya Ootori, Haruhi Fujioka, Tamaki Suoh, Mitsukuni Haninozuka, and Takashi Morinozuka.** The list would go on to relatives and so forth. After being satisfied with the format and the way the words would curl underneath the lines of the paper, a long sigh would come right after. It seemed like this was always the hardest part. Just four words that made the task a little more difficult for me. With a shaky hand, the pen dipped the ink and scratched along the top of the page in the little journal that was given as a gift by Haruhi. Eyes looked over the words once more and I set the pen down, got up and walked off, wanting to know what my brother was up to. It was reassurance, those four words written on the of every page that was binded into the little journal. And the names under them was a daily reminder. The fancy, curvy words simply said:

 **People Who Love Me.**


End file.
